


It's Him

by LillaJoba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Fix-It, M/M, Supernatural Season 12, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillaJoba/pseuds/LillaJoba
Summary: When Castiel returns from the Empty, he has to convince the Winchesters that it's really him. There's only one thing he can think of to convince Dean.





	It's Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is all because the season 13 premier ripped my heart out. Hope you enjoy!

They had lost him. For good. They had lost him. It was made clear no one outside of God could bring him back. Not Jack, not any angel, nobody. That was what they were told. Even Jack isn’t strong enough.

Except, it wasn’t any ordinary angel he was rescuing. It was his father. Well, maybe not really, but when have the Winchesters ever had a problem with unrelated family? It wasn’t a random creature. They were connected. It’s what had allowed him to walk into a realm no one is supposed to be able to go to alive and a realm no one should be able to come back from.

But logic, if there was any behind it, went well out the window when they saw the familiar blue eyes and dark brown hair, the same height and a trench coat, the same mannerisms. When they saw the man standing in front of them in the bunker, they didn’t think about how it could possibly be possible, they just assumed it wasn’t. They were hunters, first and foremost, and caution is always what was important. No matter what sight they see, even if it makes their heart constrict like a cobra is wrapped around it.

That is why Dean Winchester was pushing the trench coated man against the wall, a knife clasped in his hand, his forearm on his chest.

“Who are you?” he grunted, his eyes filled with hatred. Anyone pretending to be Cas was not someone who’s existence should be excused in their books.

Yet, he didn’t strike. Assuming the man wasn’t Cas was one thing, but stabbing him without concrete proof that it wasn’t him was more than he could bring himself to do.

Sam was standing back, neither interfering nor preventing anything. Jack was in between them, not really knowing what to do. This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

The only one who seemed perfectly calm, even if his eyes gave away some of his pain, was Castiel. He was breathing against Dean’s arm in slow and steady breaths, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Dean. It’s me.” His voice was low and reassuring as always.

But it wasn’t evidence. Dean didn’t drop his guard, although his grip became slightly less confident and his knife shook a little as he studied the man’s face. It was the same. The same as they had known. Who had saved both him and Sam multiple times. And it hurt to look at it.

“If you’re him,” Dean said, his chest rising and falling, “tell me something only people close to me would know.”

He still had the knife ready, knowing full well that most creatures wouldn’t really be harmed by it, but he didn’t need it. The man he had pinned against the wall didn’t make any move to run or fight or resist in any way. Instead, he seemed to be scanning Dean, up and down. Considering him. He looked over at Sam and Jack. Sam seemed as anxious as Dean did. Then, he turned back to Dean and his lips turned up into a half smile.

“I can go one better. I can do something only I know you want to do.”

Dean frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t back down, though, even at Dean’s harsh tone. He actually seemed slightly nervous for the first time, but it hardly showed.

All he said was “May I?”

Dean parted his lips slightly, trying to think of a response to something so ambiguous, but he never had time. The second his lips relaxed, another set met his. They were colder than Dean’s, but the shock he felt had nothing to do with the cold. None of the actions were lust filled or hungry or needy, but the kiss wasn’t chased either. It was soft and caring and almost tentative, as if the person was afraid they’d hurt them.

Dean’s hand slipped down to his side, the knife almost falling to the ground. It would have if it wasn’t for his years of practice. He didn’t know what to do, whether he should even keep his eyes open or not, so he fluttered his eyelids between closed and open.

By the time he had thought that he should have probably pulled away, it was over, and he was left standing, lips parted, arms by his side, staring into the deep ocean like eyes in font of him.

“Um, what was that?” he breathed out, not capable of a proper response.

“I can sense when people want to see me. When they pray to me. What their longing is.” Cas said, his voice still the same, steady tone. “I felt it when I came back. Something had changed when I died. How you thought of me.”

Dean could only stare. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he should be angry, his best friend just kissed him for God’s sake, but he was thinking of the words he said. He didn’t know what that feeling was before. That want that was more than just being comrades in battle. It was a feeling like he couldn’t keep going without him. The only other person he ever felt that towards was his brother. But it was still different, and he didn’t realise what was that other feeling until the pressure of Cas’ lips on his. How could he know that if Dean didn’t even figure it out himself? Unless he was telling the truth, there was no way he could have felt it. Known it.

“Dean?”

It was Sam’s voice calling from behind him. He sounded expectant rather than shocked. Waiting for something. So Dean tore his eyes away from Castiel’s blue ones and turned his head to face his brother. He met his eye and stared for a moment before he took a deep breath. They looked slightly shocked, but more anxious and nervous.

“It’s him.” he said in near whisper.

It only took a moment for what he said to register with Sam, who gave a shaky laugh and rushed forward to the two of them. It didn’t take long and Cas was almost pushed back up against the wall from the force of the hug. Dean could hear Sam patting him on the back and laughing from relief. He could see Cas’ face, smiling at the prospect of being home. Because it was his home.

He turned around to face Jack, standing a few feet away. He looked at the scene with mild curiosity that so resembled Cas when he was confused it made Dean chuckle.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of the Nephilim, but he was a fan of his family. And all he knew, is that another member was there now, alive, because of Jack. He smiled and pat him on the shoulder as he walked to the kitchen to get a beer.

For once, in a long time, he could drink to celebrate.


End file.
